


Samson

by the_interuniversal_geometer



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Geralt gets a haircut, M/M, One Shot, That's it that's the plot, haircut, nothing bad happens, one (1) kiss, unless you're Geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:20:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25457668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_interuniversal_geometer/pseuds/the_interuniversal_geometer
Summary: She tied you to a kitchen chairShe broke your throne, and she cut your hairAnd from your lips she drew the HallelujahIn which Jaskier gives Geralt a haircut and Geralt is overdramatic.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 9
Kudos: 108





	Samson

**Author's Note:**

> A very short one shot in which nothing bad happens at all! I was inspired to write this fic after listening to the song Samson by Regina Spektor. Great thanks to Jess for betaing this work.

“Geralt,” Jaskier began as he tried running a comb through Geralt’s hair. Geralt was taking a long soak in the bath as Jaskier attempted to brush out his tangled hair.

“Hmmm?” Geralt prompted, content to just relax and let Jaskier work on his hair.

“This needs to be cut,” Jaskier told him. Immediately, Geralt sat up straight. Jaskier’s comb was caught in Geralt's hair, still trying to brush it out, and Geralt made a noise of discomfort.

Jaskier gently extracted the comb from a particularly gnarled mat and asked, “What's wrong?”

“My hair is fine,” he said tersely. “There’s no need to cut it.”

“Geralt, you have kikimora guts matted in your hair,” Jaskier told him. “There’s no way to get those out.”

“Keep brushing it,” Geralt commanded. 

“Okay,” Jaskier said, putting his hands up and then picking up a brush from where he had placed it on the ground and resumed trying to detangle the knots, ends first. 

When over half an hour had passed and the tangles weren’t looking any better, Jaskier put the brush down and said, “I think that’s as good as it’s going to get.”

“That’s fine,” Geralt told him and picked up the brush to try detangling his hair himself. 

The next night, after a day in the market buying supplies, Geralt was met with Jaskier brandishing a mean-looking pair of silver blades that glinted in the low light of their room.

“What in Melitele’s name are you planning on doing with those?” Geralt asked suspiciously. 

“What do you think?” Jaskier responded. “Your hair has gotten quite out of hand.”

“My hair is fine,” Geralt said. “Your vision might be going bad.”

“You’ve still got dried kikimora guts matted in it,” Jaskier said, eyebrows raised.

“It adds some color.” Geralt said, not budging. “I don’t even mind it.”

“I saw you trying to brush it out for an hour after I stopped the other day, and even you gave up,” Jaskier pointed out.

“If you cut it, it’ll be too short to put up,” Geralt said pointedly, “and if I can’t put my hair up, it could get in my face when I was fighting a monster and I would get killed.”

“It’s just a haircut, Geralt,” Jaskier said. “You would have thought I was walking you to the gallows myself with the way you’re talking. And anyways, you could always wrap it in a bandana or cut it short enough that it’s out of your eyes.” 

Geralt shot him a look. “You would truly cut it that short?” He reflexively put a hand over his hair, shielding it.

“I’ll only cut out the mats, if that’s what you want,” Jaskier baraigined. 

“I don’t want any of it cut,” Geralt said petulantly. 

“I know, but it could get moldy,” Jaskier told him. 

“Fine,” Geralt said, as a man walking to his own execution. He sat down in the sole chair in the room, back ramrod straight and eyes clenched shut, bracing for the first cut.

“This won’t even hurt,” Jaskier tried to reassure him. “You fight monsters and don’t even flinch. What makes this so bad?”

“It’s the one thing of my appearance I can take pride in, since I’m otherwise so monstrous,” Geralt admitted. 

“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier said softly, putting down the scissors and placing one of his hands on Geralt's shoulder. “I’ll help you style it if that’s what you want, after this. We can make it look nice. Did I ever tell you I have three sisters? I styled their hair all the time.”

“Okay,” Geralt said, relaxing a bit, “go ahead.” Jaskier took up the scissors once again and began shearing off locks of Geralt’s hair.

“And anyway,” Jaskier said as he was cutting Geralt’s hair, “I think you’re very handsome.”

Geralt let out a laugh. “Surely you jest, bard.”

“I’d swear it if you wished. Have you not seen the way women, and even some men, look at you?”

“Yes, with fear and disgust.”

“You don’t see what I see,” Jaskier said.

“Then tell me what you see, bard.” Jaskier put down the scissors and walked around the chair so he was facing Geralt and put his hand on Geralt's cheek so Geralt tilted his head up to look at Jaskier.

“I see a man who does what is right, even when it hurts him, even when people hate him for it. With eyes like honey and hair like the freshly fallen snow.” Geralt just stared up at him, pupils blown wide as cat eyes. “You’re beautiful Geralt. You’re good and kind, and anyone who can’t see that is an idiot.”

Jaskier brought his lips to meet Geralt’s, softly kissing him until Geralt opened his mouth, deepening the kiss. Geralt brought his left hand up to rest in Jaksier's nape, gently stroking the hair there. It was soft, softer than Geralt expected, and he tugged experimentally at it, eliciting a soft noise from Jaskier.

“Here,” Jaskier said as they parted. “Let me fetch a mirror for you.” He picked up a silver hand mirror from the vanity and handed it to Geralt. “What do you think?”

Geralt's white hair now fell to his shoulders at a slight angle. “Do you think you could...” Geralt hesitated, a bit embarrassed to even ask.

“Could I what? Jaskier asked.

“Could you braidmyhair?” Geralt asked, saying the last part in a single rushed breath. His cheeks pinked lightly. 

“Of course I can,” Jaskier smiled and began intricately plaiting Geralt’s hair. When he finished Geralt’s hair formed a crown above his ears.

“How is that?” Jaskier asked.

“I–good,” Geralt said, his cheeks even rosier now. 

“I think you look very pretty,” Jaskier said.

“I’m not a girl,” Gerlat said defensively. 

“Most definitely not,” Jaskier said, “but men can be pretty, too. _I’m_ pretty.” 

Geralt processed this for a second and then nodded. “Okay,” he said.

“My pretty witcher,” Jaskier said happily. “We should go get you some oils for your hair, so it won’t get so tangled again. I think I saw some at the market. We can go there again tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Geralt said, “but then we need to continue on. We can’t spend another day in this town.”

“Sure,” Jaskier said easily, “and maybe we can go to the coast, I’ve heard it’s lovely this time of year, in fact…” Jaskier continued talking as he began sweeping up Geralt’s hair from the floor and Geralt just listened, happy to comment occasionally as he got ready for bed.

In the morning, the two set off for the market, Jaskier gently plaiting Geralt’s hair again before they left. On the way there, Jaskier picked a handful of delicate blue flowers and placed them neatly in Geralt’s hair. Gerlat wasn’t sure where they were going next but it was good to have Jaskier beside him. 


End file.
